Dead Reaper Walking (6 page)

He stopped suddenly. “Fuck!”

“Yeah,” I panted. “That’s the idea. Get on with it.”

He let go of my hair, bending over until his forehead rested against my shoulder. “No protection, babe. We’re gonna have to move upstairs.”

Upstairs. Move. Not happening. Not yet.

“Doesn’t matter.” I pushed back, grinding my ass against his cock. “Not human. Can’t catch anything. Can’t get pregnant.”

He breathed a sigh somewhere between relief and need, the warmth of his breath whispering over my back like a silken caress. Then he moved, pulling his hips back to change position. The broad head of his erection pressed against me, teasing the entrance to my pussy. My breath caught on a gasp when he pushed forward, sliding into me slowly, just half an inch. The pressure, the stretch felt so good that I moaned, hands curling into claws pressed against the door.

But slow didn’t cut it. “More. Now.”

He laughed, the sound cut off as he slammed home in one slick rush. “Like that?”

It was my turn not to breathe, all my mental capacity given over to the way he felt inside me. Thick. Hard. Stretching me and pressing against nerves along my inner walls that yearned to be stroked again like he had last night. Like I hadn’t been taken before. Ever.

“That good, huh?” He pulled back, a quick snatch of his hips and shoved in again. I was so slick and wet the movement became a heady rush of sensation. “Fuck me, you feel good.”

“Good.” I managed a one word reply, expanding into another. “More.”

He gave me more. Hand tightening in my hair, he kept me hard against the door and powered into me. His hips slammed into mine, cock working like a piston in my needy pussy. The slap of skin on skin and the sound of our moans of need filled the air as he fucked me. Like he couldn’t get enough of me. I couldn’t get enough of him.

It didn’t take long, not with us going at it like rabbits. Pleasure built, growing within me, and before long it hit fever pitch. I pushed back, grinding against him. Seeking more sensation, more pleasure, more everything.

I wasn’t the only one struggling. Troy’s pants became harder, his moans rougher, his strokes shorter and harder. Tension wound into a tight coil, expectation catching my breath as I climbed higher. Then it broke, shattering deep to send ecstasy surging out from my core in an ever increasing spiral through my veins.

I cried out something—Troy’s name, I don’t know—just something as my pussy clamped down around his cock. Milking him as each wave hit, an endless cycle of pleasure. Behind me he swore, the rough words almost unintelligible. His strokes faltered, the rhythm breaking down. He slammed into me a few more times, rough. Delicious.

“Fuck!” Then he drove in once more, hard, and came.

The next day Laney was still in town, a situation Troy was not going to argue with. Reilly had given the okay for her to buddy up with him and John on their cases. Given how invaluable her instincts had already proven to be, having her around eased his nerves.

So much so that he didn’t argue when she slipped away last night again. She had her job and he had his. He’d woken just as she was strapping her belt around her waist. For some reason, he could see the blades in their sheaths now. When he’d mentioned it, she’d said they liked him. He was still trying to work out how he felt about a set of mini-scythes liking him. Especially ones that belong to the Grim Reaper’s granddaughter.

Pulling up outside the station, he parked next to Reilly’s SUV. He couldn’t see Laney’s bike, even though her text said she was there. A frown creased his brow as he climbed out of the car. She’d been gone before he woke that morning. Only by a little, the sheets had still been warm when he came too.

Reports had been up this last week, way up. It almost felt like word had gotten out that there was a Reaper in town and everything that went bump in the night had come out to take a looksee. Apart from the damn demon they were tracking, of course. That had disappeared without a trace. Something that scared the shit out of everyone who’d seen that scene.

Troy took the steps two at a time, but before he was inside the door the gruff voice of Sergeant Andrews greeted him. “Regan. Those girls’ names you were after, for the Kaufman case? On your desk.”

“Cool, thanks, man.” Troy offered a genuine smile as he passed. Cory Andrews was one scary looking son of a bitch. At least six and a half feet, he towered over the rest of the department, and he had a set of shoulders that would make a barn jealous.

“Welcome.” Andrews just nodded. He rarely cracked a smile. If Troy didn’t know he was as human as John and he were (the captain was a different matter. That dude was way too cool under fire for Troy to be entirely comfortable classifying him as purely human) then he’d have suspected Andrews of being one of the bigger paras. Maybe a troll or something. Those suckers were built like mountains, same as Andrews.

He paused for a second, turning toward Troy. “Cap’t wants to see you. His office. Laney’s already in there.”

He paused between one step and the next to look at the sergeant’s retreating back in surprise. All the shirt-covered acres of it. Since when had his girlfriend become Laney to the normally reticent sergeant?

With no time to think on whether Andrews was sweet on his girl or what he’d feel about it if he was, Troy detoured to Reilly’s office.

The blinds were open so he could clearly see Laney, her hands moving animatedly as she talked. Today she wore a denim skirt with her heavy boots, her jacket slung carelessly over the back of a nearby chair. His attention was distracted by the mouth-watering length of her legs before he got himself under control.

She waved what looked like a photo at Reilly. The captain shook his head, but the hard edge usually on his face was absent. He looked almost…entranced. Like Andrews.

Fucking
hell.
Was every guy in the damn place sweet on her? Troy’s mood went from pleasant to black in a heartbeat.

“No. This isn’t one of mine.” As he pushed the door open Laney threw the photo on the desk in front of Reilly. It landed right side up to show an image of a woman lying on a kitchen floor. Stacked and curvy with masses of ice-blond hair, she’d have been stunning, if she wasn’t dead. With a hole where her heart should have been.

“I remember this one. Home invasion, Tuesday night?” Picking it up, Troy looked from Reilly to Laney curiously. “I thought the lab came back with some kind of werewolf hair strands at the scene?”

He sighed, dropping the photo on the desk. “Yet another para on human crime. No offense,” he added, offering Laney a smile.

“None taken,” she answered automatically, already shaking her head. “No, not para on human. This was para on para.”

He had to smile a little at that. A week and she even sounded like a cop. His smile faded as her words sunk in. “What do you mean? As I recall, the victim has lived here for years.”

“Yeah? And? You think you haven’t got paranormals living amongst you? Or perhaps you think they all live over in Weirdshitsville and just visit?” She reached around him to pick up the photo, holding it in front of him. “She’s not human. Look, see the feline set of the eyes and the high cheekbones? The color of the hair?”

As he looked at the photo, it became more apparent. The woman’s face, although purely human at first glance, seemed more ethereal the more he looked. How had they missed it?

“She was a banshee.” Laney answered the unspoken question. “They all look like that. Once you’ve seen one or two, then you can spot them easily.”

She turned to Reilly, a frown on her brow. “There was wolf hair found at the scene?”

Reilly nodded, rifling through the contents of the file until he found the lab report. “Yes. Although it’s a type we’ve not seen before. Lab didn’t know what to make of it at first, then theorized it’s a type of werewolf we haven’t encountered yet.”

“No, this is something else. I didn’t get a call to reap her soul.” Laney ran her hand through her hair, the movement jerky. “Shit.”

Reilly looked as puzzled as Troy felt, but it was the captain who spoke. “I thought your… you knew about all deaths?”

Laney dropped her head back, whistling through her teeth. Her expression was tight. “Yeah. Normally. But I’m technically only one type of Psychopomp. There are others.”

“Wait, what? Others? You mean other categories of reapers?” Troy couldn’t help the surprise that colored his voice.

She nodded. “Types of Reaper, yes. You think all cultures call their guide to the afterlife the Grim Reaper? They use different names. The Dead Ancestors in Africa, the Aztecs had Xoloti, the Norse called theirs Valkyries, but they’re a myth now. No one’s seen them for centuries.”

He glanced down at the photo. “And let me guess, there’s a death for banshees as well. And it’s not you?”

“Not quite.” She grimaced. “The banshees are almost reaper level. They’re heralds of death, but they’re Celtic in origin, I think. They belong to a triple goddess called the Morrigan. And if one’s been killed, you found hair…” She shook her head, her expression grim. “We may have a Morrigan Hound in town.”

Sitting back on a wobbly chair in the café/bar near the department, I ran a finger around the top of my coffee mug. Troy and his partner were lost in their own thoughts. From my conversations with Troy I’d learned the threats they’d faced so far had been lower level stuff. A couple of vamps and werewolves and they had been few and far between. Scary enough if you weren’t used to them, but in the general scheme of things they weren’t major movers and shakers. Demons were a different matter, as were hounds.

“So, on a scale of one to ten, just how dangerous are these Morrigan Hounds? More or less than a normal werewolf?”

It wasn’t Troy who asked, but John, the ‘comfortable and heading for retirement’ cop. For a ‘comfortable,’ though, far more intelligence and interest shone in his eyes than I’d expected.

“They’d probably sit about a twelve...maybe a thirteen. And yes, definitely more dangerous than any werewolf.”

John blinked. Troy whistled through his teeth. “Fuck me.”

“Not in public, darling,” I drawled. “I’d hate to get arrested.”

John stuck his nose in his coffee mug, expression all innocent as though he hadn’t heard me, and took a noisy drink. Troy just winked, a grin plastered all over his face. “Later, maybe. Now, these hounds?”

I nodded. “Humanoid. Not shape-shifters like werewolves, instead they have tattoos.” I waved my hand over my arm. “They’re always highly intricate, detailed tattoos. The tats peel away to take physical form…” I paused to make sure they understood the seriousness of what I was saying. “Think a whole wolf pack under the command of one person…called the Hound, even though they don’t actually change form. They control the wolves. Intelligent wolves. Like the banshee, hounds and their wolves belong to the Morrigan. You know? The triple goddess of Death and Battle? She’s real too, and she’s got big ol’ links with Death, so yeah… think wolves are fucking hard to kill. I don’t know about the hound. No one’s ever been dumb enough to try and kill one. Not that I’ve heard. The stories say it’s the Morrigan herself who collects their souls and reincarnates them.”

The boys sat back, shock written large on their faces. “Holy crap.”

“Yeah, that just about covers it.” I sipped from my mug. Coffee and donuts, the stereotypical lunch of any police force, sat on the table between us. Looking around, I noted familiar faces. Pretty much all the guys from the department appeared to lunch here. Even the captain. I watched his retreating shoulders as he left.

He puzzled me. Every time I looked at his lifeline, it was virtually buzzing with potential. Poking at my knowledge upgrade, I found an answer. It appeared that Reilly was about to become non-human, but there was something else there. Almost like he was removed from life, or death, completely. Very odd. I paused, mug halfway to my lips again. But…non-human. That was not good.
So
not good. Because if he got bit and decided to snack on anyone, I was going to have to put him down.

“What’s with Reilly?” I couldn’t resist asking once he was out of earshot.

“Oh lord, now that’s another story altogether.” Troy stretched, his hands behind his head. I tried to ignore the thin strip of toned abdomen the move revealed. Didn’t help when it looked eminently lickable.

“Ex-special forces.” A new voice broke in as the fourth seat at the table was suddenly filled. Sergeant Andrews…Cory…dropped into the space. “Not sure what, but something extreme. Couple of tours to places people don’t talk about. Apparently got pinned down somewhere by werewolves, lots of people died. He doesn’t talk about it much, but…” He shrugged. “Family connection, I hear things.”

Fuck. Special Forces. Special Forces who had survived not just a werewolf attack but a whole pack of the things. That I so didn’t want to hear. If I had to put him down, then it was going to be a hell of a fight.

“Thanks, Cory, appreciated.” I smiled. I liked the big, normally-less-than-chatty sergeant even if I didn’t like what he said.

“You’re welcome.” He smiled back, then demolished a sandwich in two bites. Opposite, Troy glared. I pushed to my feet, my need to visit the restroom far more pressing than trying to figure out what worm had gotten into his head now.

A couple of minutes later I re-emerged from the ladies to find Troy loitering in the hallway. He looked up at the sound of the door opening, piercing me with those bright baby-blues.

“Hey. What’s eating you?” Not one to beat about the bush, I went right for it. “You look like a bulldog chewing a wasp.”

He huffed, folding his arms over his chest. “You said you were a reaper.”

Lord, save me from pissy men.

“I am.” I reached behind my back and pulled a blade to spin around my hand. Use those babies enough and you get downright handy with them. “Got the sickles right here to prove it.”

“
Just
a reaper?”

I put the sickle away. “I am
just
a reaper. What else do you think I am?”

He glared again, looking all mean and moody. I suppressed the shiver that wanted to roll down my spine. God, he did a good brooding and dangerous look. I liked that in a man. I liked it in him.